Lord of the Night

The Night Haunter paused to gather his thoughts, drawing his feathered cloak around him like a great crow folding its wings — and then he spoke.

He told them of his bitter crusade. He told them of his hate for the traitor-Emperor who had turned upon him without warning or honour, a hate that burned bright and uncfuenched, but as patient as time itself. He told them that they, his children, his dark warriors, his prefects of fear personified, were each worth a dozen of any loyalist Marine, with ''purity'' on their ignorant lips and devotion in their hollow, hypocritical souls.

He told them that they would have their revenge upon the withered god, and they cheered in the shadows of the writhing mausoleum and clashed their gauntlets against their breasts in joy.

And then he drew breath and told them he was going to die, and their joy crumbled like ash.

Sahaal returned to the present in the shifting smog of the rustmud swamplands in a bleak mood, his master's morbid promise ringing through his mind. More than ever the need for action, for some palpable sense of gain, burned through his brain. The bitterness of the Night Haunter was a patient force, but his fury was far sharper and his discipline far younger. What did all this brooding achieve? What must he do? How must he act?

Seated amongst his tattered rags, Zso Sahaal found himself dizzied by a rush of panic and impatience, surging in his guts, calling him to action, to violence, to murder.

It was not a wise time to approach him with a protest.

There were two: young Shadowkin standing close enough to each other to beuay their nervousness. They would not have undertaken their quiet rebellion alone, and so like children clutching for the comfort of their parents, they had come together.

The first was a man in his twenties, shaven-headed and tattooed, whose circlet of shattered ribs and bangles of beaded finger bones marked him out as a fine warrior. Where an older man might have leaned upon a staff this youth clutched at a heavy volume of Imperial scripture like a lifeline, as if no harm could befall him so long as he touched its battered surface.

His companion was a woman of similar age, hair dyed purple and blue, swept back from her skull like a teardrop, whose black cloak dangled with stolen scalps, hands crooked around a tall rifle. A sniper, then — another warrior of the tribe.

Two fools, staggering into the presence of their lord to register their dissent, each silently praying that the other would speak first. Sahaal watched them without movement. He knew how to deal with insubordination.

'My lord?' the woman said after a long pause, unsure whether he was awake. 'M-my lord, may we address you?'

Sahaal let the silence roll, enjoying their squirms.

'Master, we seek an audience...' the man said, prostrating himself beside his fellow.

'Speak,' Sahaal voxed finally, enjoying the thrill of horror that passed across their faces.

Again, the woman found her nerve first.

'M-my lord, we... We are unsure of this place. The hunters have found little to eat and the tribe is hungry. W-we...' she faltered, glancing at the man for support.

'We don't understand why you've brought us here,' he said, the accusation firm in his voice. 'We don't understand what you intend for us. Are we to continue our holy purges, or...'

'Or do you have some new task for us?' the woman's voice too grew more confident with each word. 'We... we would understand your wishes.'

An uncomfortable silence settled. Sahaal decided to probe the depths of this dissatisfaction, impressed by their audacity.

'Have I not given command,' he said, 'that the man named Slake be brought to me?'

'Y-yes my lord, but—'

'Have I not given command that the tribe fortify itself?'

'You have, but—'

'Have I not led you when leadership was needed, and commanded you when command was required?'

'You have, my lord.'

He stood and raised the volume of his voxcaster, towering above them.

'Why then, thrice-damned, do you stand before me to question my orders!'

'We mean no insult, lord!' It was almost a squeal. 'We only seek to understand! The tribe is uncertain!'